Nightshade sank down on the mattress, holding her small shirt over her chest and reminding herself that half-truths were the most believable. “The man holding me hostage shot me.”
“Shot you? That's it? Spill the beans before I have a nervous breakdown here.” Fernando started fanning himself, giving credence to his words.
“I don't remember the beginning – they must have had me drugged or something. But I think it was some sort of trap. The last night I was there, a man came into my bedroom. He was angry and hit me.” Her father had pulled his punch, but not entirely. He had every intention of leaving a bruise, another layer of proof in his plan. Nightshade lifted her hand to touch her left cheekbone at the memory.
“He did what?!”
She went into an abbreviated version of what had happened next, with Fernando's audible gasps punctuating her sentences. When she finished, she worried she’d said something wrong at the look of utter disbelief on Fernando’s face.
“Hold on. You're telling me some prince charming stormed a palace, rescued you from your enemy, and then rescued you again? Oh honey, I need to meet this man.”
Unbidden, the image of Merc last night rose like a tidal wave. She jumped to her feet, unable to sit still with the riot of emotion boiling inside of her.
Fernando shrieked and Nightshade's hand went immediately to her hip, only to find it empty. Dammit, she felt practically naked without a weapon.
Then Fernando's hand was back over his mouth, and he was pointing at her as if she were a ghost. She was getting tired of his dramatics. “What is it this time?”
“Your back – your precious beautiful back. Did he whip you or something?”
“No, that was from the explosion. The doctor said it would heal perfectly.”
“You poor, poor thing. How are you not having a mental breakdown right this minute? And after I talked about you losing weight... He starved you, didn't he? I can't believe I was so callous. Can you ever forgive me?” Fernando clutched her hands in his.
“Only if you stop gasping and screaming every time you see a scar, okay?” Had she compared him to Lily? Lily had nothing on this guy.
“I'll only ask one more question – how did you get that one?” He pointed to her thigh and the puckered scar that raised her flesh in a line almost a foot long.
Of all the things Fernando had asked, this one she couldn't answer. And for some reason, her normal ability to distance herself hovered just out of her grasp.
Her thigh throbbed, a deep hurt that welled up to her stomach and wrapped around her chest. She turned away, knowing this time her expression was not neutral. “Shrapnel burn. A piece of debris skimmed my skin there and burned it.”
“But –”
Nightshade held up a hand, her back still turned to Fernando. “No buts – you promised no more questions and I have no more answers left to give. I really don't want to talk about it anymore.”
She felt him approach, knew his hands hovered just above her shoulders, and she tensed. But he pulled back at the last second and changed paths, snatching up the beautiful blouse and pants from the chair. “This shirt won’t hide your scars. Give me another minute and I'll find something that covers everything.”
Nightshade glanced at her reflection in the mirror, her blue eyes turning to steel. “No. I want to wear it.” She wanted Cotter to see every scar he could and know deep in his heart that it was his fault his daughter's body had been disfigured.
